One year ago, I hopped off an Aer Lingus flight, piled giant suitcases into a taxi, and sped off into the early Dublin day. I had no idea what adventures awaited me, who I would meet, or what my lunch was going to be. I was in uncharted territory. A vision danced before my eyes. My feet were bouncing to and fro. My hair swayed in the wind, and my eyes took in the grey shades of rain. I was moving to Ireland ready for whatever awaited me.
It doesn’t happen suddenly like in the movies. You don’t really know when exactly it begins, but slowly with every part of you, you fall in love.
I moved to Dublin, and I fell in love with it.
Dublin’s low-rise city life won my heart from the moment I stepped onto its wet sidewalk. The sun hid behind the clouds and the wind blew my hair into a mess. Cyclists weaved in and out of traffic while pedestrians jaywalk across the streets. Pigeons walked side-by-side with the people as if that’s what they were supposed to do. The River Liffey ebbed and flowed cutting the city in two clearly marking the boundaries of the North Side and the South Side. People laughed and talked with their accents swimming in the air. Words like lovely, grand, and thanks-a-mill flew around my head as I took in the new surroundings.
I wondered if such a life could be real. Was it truly possible that I moved to Europe and planned to spend the next 365 days here? Did I really believe that I would succeed? There was no way to know, so I kept pushing forward.
After some time, Ireland’s quirks of driving on the left, calling money tenERS and fivERS, drinking pints after a day at work, and forever discussing the weather grew on me. They were never annoying but turned rather endearing. I glanced easily over my right shoulder when crossing the street. The Euro currency didn’t trouble my thought process. I just picked out the money and paid. My mates and I anticipated that Kopparberg and gossip after a long week at work. I looked forward to the awkward small talk about the lashing wind and rain.
Dublin began to grow on me.
When I traveled around Europe, my heart ached to be back in my bed. I wanted to listen to the slight patter of rain on my window. I missed the way the sun rose at 4.00am and set at 10.30pm. I yearned to be back in the hustle and bustle of Dublin.
The warm summer made up for the chilly winter. Days were longer and spent outside. The fashion changed with the weather, and as soon as it was remotely warm, the Dubliners brought out their sandals and shorts. I chuckled at the thought of 60 degree weather being warm, but quickly found myself sweating as I walked to and from work. Dublin’s weather had grown on me, just as the city had done.
Sometime in July, I talked with a roommate about leaving Dublin and going back to America. My heart sunk. I cried because I realized I had fallen in love with Dublin.
I loved the crazy weather. I loved the weird fashion. How taxi drivers try to be your friend. The way the days are so short in the winter. The way that the Dublin Bus system is always late. I loved that the pubs treated me like family when I ordered a pint. I loved the Dublin accent.
I loved Dublin.
I have no idea when it happened, but I moved to Dublin and fell in love.